


The World Ends with You

by nineafternoons



Series: I Saw You on The Way Back [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Sexual Content, editor!jihoon, multi-millionaire!soonyoung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9247673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nineafternoons/pseuds/nineafternoons
Summary: The chance of winning the lottery on a single ticket is 1 in 175 million. Love, however, doesn’t require much statistics.(Or, that AU where Soonyoung is a lottery winner turned business mogul with proper investments. Jihoon is a jaded book editor with a missing wallet. With the lottery, there's tax; with love, there's the matter of reciprocation. Both try to make it work.)





	1. Chapter 1

 

Every person in the world is born with an expiration date.

It’s something Soonyoung’s biology teacher discloses towards the end of the semester, where everyone’s pretty much running on watery coffee, accepting the inevitability that is cram school, and the ever-unwanted part-time jobs under a scratched leather belt. That is, unless you’re a rich heir or is lucky enough to be privileged to walk around Gangnam-gu with numerous shopping bags hooked on your arms, free of guilt and bankruptcy. A driver by your side, a maid, or whatever those rich people have—Soonyoung doesn’t have the time to be bitter, because 1) it’s better to work than to whine, and 2) as what Bill Gates had said: if you were born poor it's not your mistake, but if you die poor it's your mistake.

They’ve discussed cells before, and now they’re doing it again, but this time with quasi-illustrations drawn on the blackboard courtesy of Mrs. Park, who in another life, is probably a Philosopher. Soonyoung, in his senior year of high school, nineteen of age, still laughs at how Meiosis I to Meiosis II combined looks like a dick. He passes the observation to his other male classmates, who he deems appreciative enough of his sense of humor, laughing under their palms, only toning down when Mrs. Park faces the class. Today’s not one of those days wherein a passing imagination turns into a hot topic in class, sans the ones who are mature enough to ignore green things like these; today’s one of the days wherein they are, for once, quiet.

Mrs. Park continues, “Death is inevitable,” so much for Biology, the study of life, really. “And accidents are called ‘accidents,’ because it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it still did. That’s what makes life so sad.”

Just a week before, it was revealed over the PA that Mrs. Park's husband has died due to a car accident, when in fact, he has been living with a tumor in his stomach for years. They’ve been preventing the tumor from spreading to other parts of his body for so long, that they didn't expect other factors could be the cause of his death instead. They were given a two-minute silence to pray and mourn his passing.

Initially, Soonyoung had thought how Mrs. Park is taking everything well—she remains patient after the projector suddenly malfunctioned, or when Soonyoung had begged for a deadline extension since he forgot to pass his assignment due to overworking himself in his uncle’s chicken restaurant. Though, it's obvious how her smile thins in the middle of a discussion, and how her voice veils over somewhere far away. Some say she’s been spending lunch inside one of the washroom’s cubicles in the faculty lounge. Her homeroom class took the liberty to wind up a grill at the picnic lunch area just for her.

“The world could end in so many ways. It could end through natural or man-made disasters—but most of the time, it ends when an important person in your life disappears.” Mrs. Park says as she sat, adjusting her pencil skirt, the tip of her fingers coated with chalk dust. “So, everyone, please be kind to one another. Be kind to every person you’d meet. They could disappear the next day or even the next hour. Cherish and appreciate them as much as you can.”

Soonyoung thinks back to the time when his world had ended. It could be when he was an infant, placed in a braided cradle with two thick (stolen, according to his uncle) blankets. Both of his parents left him to his uncle’s aid and was never found again. His distant relatives say that they’re either dead or in jail, otherwise dealing with drugs. Either way, they’re not really significant to Soonyoung. The most they’ve done for him was bring him to this world. In the first place, he never knew his parents, he never knew what type of people they were, he never knew their jobs, and he never knew if they were stable enough to keep him alive. So, he doesn’t count it. In fact, he’s afraid of the time where he would feel the need to, but today’s not that day.

The first time his world ends, however, is on a Tuesday. He spends his lunch break with his best friends, Junhui and Wonwoo, who are a class above him. He doesn’t feel jealous nor bitter since the system is rigged and has been for the past years anyway. No one really pays attention to the supposed ‘hierarchy.’ Most slots in the star section have been paid by rich parents, which is unfair to those who worked their asses off for the better part of their high school life. Junhui’s mother, who is part of the PTA board, reveals this information while serving them iced tea for Junhui’s birthday in one of the unused rooms in their fancy noraebang—one with different branches spread throughout Seoul, and now in Busan. She spills the tea while she’s got a microphone against her mouth, and boy isn’t it the best song ever, 100 in score.

(When she leaves, they mix the beer with the juice, and the night is pretty much well off.)

Junhui and Wonwoo are really smart, though. One day, Soonyoung woke up with his name in Class A along with his best friends, and the next in Class D. His uncle threatened a complaint to the school director, but the administrator reasons Soonyoung’s low conduct grades, making his academic achievements questionable, in turn, insulting his intelligence. It’s expected of the higher-ups to accuse him of cheating, but really, he’d rather have that than to be placed in the star section through a fat wallet instead of a fat brain.

His uncle leaves the premises with a string of curses under his breath, and the next time he’d cater a school event, he promises to fuck with the faculty’s orders.

“Mrs. Kim is not around, so I don’t get why you’re studying for Statistics?”

Soonyoung looks up from his soybean paste stained textbook. “For real?” he asks, a mush of kimchi, meat, and rice gathered in his left, inner cheek. He swallows. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” Junhui says. “The whole class prepared for the quiz, but turns out, she’s absent. The world is saved, but our sleeping time the night before isn’t.”

Soonyoung closes his textbook with a hard _thump_ , the force so strong that it flew the tissues away. The typically mixed chatter of high school students and clanking utensils falls into place once he’s gotten his priorities revised, permutations and combinations thrown out of the window. “You know what, I don’t even get why I’m—” he casts a gaze over his textbook, in the generalization of studying. Dying. “Doing _this._ I mean, I got my scholarship already, so what’s the point?” Research shows that as graduation nears, two out of ten high school students give up. Soonyoung’s one of them.

Wonwoo snorts, placing his fish onto Junhui’s plate. “Because you have a stupid crush, remember?”

“It’s not stupid,” Soonyoung says in his defense. He leans back on his chair, and is struck by the pinnacle of his motivation. Once upon a time he didn’t give a fuck about academics, but things change when you fall for the smartest and the most responsible person in your batch. Really, when he earns a rank, its underlying meaning is always: _hello, please notice me_ —which Wonwoo thinks, is kind of romantic but still slightly pathetic. But they’ve been talking lately, so it’s a huge step already. “It’s different, okay. It’s easier for you two, because you’re all classmates, and as far as I’m concerned, none of you think of him in a light that goes beyond _that._ ”

“Whatever, Soonyoung. I mean, you two would look good together and all, but that potential is going to be all for nothing, since you’re not doing anything to woo him—except rile him up to do better in the ranks. You threaten him.”

Ever the optimist: “At least he knows I exist. I joined the fair committee last month, remember?” Soonyoung says, with matching hand gestures, and shuts the better part of his mouth. The last weekend still tastes fresh in his tongue, but kept like a hidden treasure. “We got to know each other. And besides, things take time.”

“That’s a really shitty excuse, Soonyoung, but who are we to ruin the fun in, what? One-sided crushes.” Junhui shrugs, leaning back, laughing, that fucker. Wonwoo almost looks apologetic, but the way he looks over Soonyoung with a twist in his lips says so much about how he agrees with his boyfriend. Pining isn’t pretty, and it just gets uglier when you have friends who have the means to be encouraging, but teasing; annoying; agitating.

“Fuck you. And you.”

Lunch break ends with Wonwoo and Junhui curling their hands together on the way to the classroom, and Soonyoung looking for a wet tissue to clean the plastic cover of his Statistics textbook. He bids them goodbye upon his arrival in his classroom. Turns out, the information of Mrs. Kim’s absence has been disseminated, and no one even bothers to review, when in fact, they also have Statistics the next day. Mrs. Kim has probably gotten her flu at rest.

For the next hour, Soonyoung, along with his classmates, acquaint themselves with a pack of chips, talking about the next birthday party they plan on attending. _Who looks legal enough to buy the drinks, whose place,_ and _wait, who’s celebrating their birthday again?_

The door swings open, and for a moment, everyone’s breath stills, because no one has even considered a substitute to hand out their tests. Surprisingly, it’s their homeroom teacher who has entered, the class releasing a collective sigh of relief as he didn’t bring anything with him but a laptop. However, the weight of the supposed test is shown on his grave face, and it’s an exchange for the mass he’s carrying. The class is quiet, and the only time they’ve ever been this silent is during Mrs. Park’s lectures. Something is wrong.

“I have a very important announcement,” their homeroom teacher starts. They aren’t supposed to have homeroom today. “We got a call earlier saying, that Lee Jihoon from Class A has been missing since last night. His last sighting was around the school premises. The police said that he may have been kidnapped…or murdered. We hope that you pray for him.”

Soonyoung’s world ends when Lee Jihoon disappears from the face of the Earth.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s something about Lee Jihoon that he can’t pinpoint. But there are the basics: he’s the smartest in their batch, have been in the student council for all his high school life, and as far as Soonyoung’s concerned, he doesn’t look like the type to meddle with underage drinking—but here he was at one of their mutual alumnae friend’s party, in his fifth Solo cup.

They’re at a shitty excuse of a bar. The bathroom reeks of unflushed waste, the wooden floor holed, fit enough for a foot to get stuck in. The audio system is decent, though, and so are the drinks—Soonyoung deems it as enough to get by, and he has been in worse bars. He doesn’t have the heart to audibly complain.

Around him are college students, flashing their university’s name with custom-made hoodies, and varsity jackets with their sports written below their names. He used to go home with Minseok during his freshman year, their houses adjacent to each other. Plus, he had a motorbike and looked cool, so if you’re friends with him, an underclassman at that, you’re guaranteed to know the wonders of popularity, bar hopping and getting away with anything, thanks to the magic that is a fake identification card.

“Kwon Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung looks up from his beer. Just a while ago, Minseok, the birthday boy, has generously given him five minutes of his time, introducing him to a group of college girls who seem so intent on exposing his private life through unprecedented questions like _so, how’s high school like these days?_ as if they've never been in high school before. Not much has changed in the system, Soonyoung answers politely. He laughs it off when they ask him about his vital statistics after. They leave him with a short invitation to a dance off a few minutes later. He shakes his head, raising his half-filled glass as a wave of goodbye. He cups his pockets, feeling his phone and wallet, opting to leave the stuffy bar before midnight strikes.

But Lee Jihoon comes up to him. Change of plans.

“Can I sit with you?” Jihoon asks although he’s already sitting beside him. He pops a nacho chip in his mouth. “Why are you all alone?”

“I don’t really know anyone from here.”

Jihoon’s eyes glaze over the girls on the dance floor. He’s been watching him. “But you saw me. You know me, right?”

“Well, yeah…sorry, I was supposed to approach you but,” his palms sweat, and the glass of beer almost slips from his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You know, you could’ve just told them you had a boyfriend and pointed at me. I’ve been sitting on the counter across you for like, the whole night.” There’s something comforting about having someone your age around you in a room full of people you don’t know. Lee Jihoon, at that, the one he has been pining for ever since last year. He’s wearing a red bomber jacket over a simple, white T-shirt. Soonyoung realizes this is the first time he has seen Jihoon in casual clothes, and it felt weird since he’s only ever gotten used to him wearing a uniform. People live outside of school, too, just like him, and it only takes a minute to realize that not every person in the world is defined by how they act inside the campus. There are student council presidents, and they could drink, too.

“What?”

“That’s what I told the guy over there,” Jihoon shamelessly points at the dude who’s been looking over them by his shoulder, the arms of his varsity jacket wrapped around his neck, the knot against his chest. “I told him that you were my boyfriend, just so he would stop bothering me.”

“Oh.”

“He’s glaring at us because he wants us to prove it.”

“So, what do you want me to do?” Soonyoung asks dumbly.

“Just hold my hand, and let’s ditch this place.” Jihoon grins cheekily, standing up. He holds out his hand. “Are you going to take it or not?”

He does. His beer is left unfinished when they leave the bar.

 

 

 

 

 

The party they attended was on a Saturday night. The day after, Jihoon reportedly went to church with his family, and on that evening, he just disappeared into thin air, his parents running to the nearest police station after 24 hours had passed.

The topic of Lee Jihoon’s Disappearance doesn’t die down until a week before their graduation. It’s hard to ignore in the first place, really, since the situation has already reached social media, his photo being retweeted all over the place. It’s all he ever sees in his timeline. It hurts. His height is this and that, his hairstyle and hair color looked like this, and he’s the kindest person you’d ever meet.

 _You were the last person with him._ Soonyoung receives a text from Minseok during lunch break. _The person he knows from school, I mean._

 _Yeah, I was, but I didn’t know where he went._ Soonyoung texts back. _I want to look for him…_

 _I’m trying to look for him as well, me and the other people he met at the party_. _I’ll give you an update, okay? You know where my university is, right?_

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo starts. It’s a bad day for him since the canteen’s serving a seafood based menu today. Usually, he’d complain, and Junhui would do so with him, but for the entirety of the break, they’ve been very quiet. “We’re worried.”

Soonyoung pockets his phone under the table and stares at them.

“Not just for Jihoon. We’re worried for you as well,” Junhui says seriously, his plate empty, fingers laced on the edge of the table. The student council’s table is just a few feet away, mourning over their trays. It’s been weeks already, and something about their faces tell that this one; Jihoon’s disappearance is something permanent. They’ve searched the city far and wide, even in Seoul, and in Busan—to no avail. “Dude, it’s not your fault, okay?”

Soonyoung may or may not have let it slip that he was with Jihoon the night before he went missing. They know of Minseok’s birthday party. It really isn’t hard to piece together: he was Minseok’s friend, and Minseok and Jihoon used to date, thus the latter attending the party, since they’re still in good terms—at least, that’s what Jihoon’s best friend says, no, _reports_ to the guidance counselor, the principal, and a police offer—detective, or whatever. It’s the truth, though, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so secrets like these aren’t held back. It spread throughout their year, and then onto the underclassmen, who nosed their way up to the rumors.

Some say Jihoon went to Minseok’s dormitory, and that Minseok has been hiding him. For the past weeks, Minseok has been blatantly denying the accusations over and over again by answering calls diligently, texting truthfully and clearing the misunderstanding through his SNS accounts.

_For the last time, Jihoon isn’t with me. If he were, I would’ve told all of you and I would’ve asked him to go back. However, we are trying our best to reach out to him and look for him. Please understand. Thank you._

“We’ll let the underage drinking pass with no fines or whatsoever, so please don’t be afraid to disclose any information that might help us find him,” the officer starts. They’re all alone now inside the guidance counselor’s office. The police officer who goes by the name Park Kyung scratches his ballpoint pen against the smooth paper even if he hasn’t said anything yet. Soonyoung’s sure the notepad is meant to be thicker than it is, but judging from how ragged it looked—some of its pages must’ve made a trip to the trash can. He wonders how credible this person is. “What’s the name of the bar you went to?”

Soonyoung takes a deep breath. It’s fine being accused by half of the student body regarding Jihoon’s disappearance. The other half reasons that they aren't that close, so Jihoon mustn't have left with that sole reason alone. It’s just a chain of events gone wrong. However, it’s another story if an officer lists him as a potential suspect—or catalyst, for that matter.

“Prima Bar, by the Red-Light District,” Soonyoung answers calmly. He isn’t agitated, nor nervous—just slightly bewildered. It’s another Tuesday, and by this time, he would’ve gone home already to help his uncle with the restaurant, thereafter looking for any possible trace that Jihoon could’ve left over the media.

“You got in because of your friend, right? Kim Minseok, was it?”

“Yes, it was his birthday.”

“I’m keeping my promise. I won’t fine you with underage drinking, but I will have to confiscate your fake I.D.” He nods. He had an extra one anyway. Plus, he's already a friendly face to the bouncers in the RDL that he needn't the I.D anymore. The only time he ever uses it is when the convenience store clerk near his home takes precaution for when he buys lottery tickets. “So, what’s your relationship with Lee Jihoon? It seems like you’re the last person he interacted with from this school.”

“We just happened to be in the same party, and we are same-aged friends,” Soonyoung explains. “I walked him home that night.”

“What time?”

“Five in the morning.”

“What time did you leave the party?”

“Eleven PM.”

Officer Park leans back. He holds all of his fingers out in his left hand, and then one on the right. “Six hours. What did you do for six hours?”

“We ditched the bar and ate at a pizza parlor. We walked around, went to the park, talked, and then I walked him home.”

“Okay,” Officer Park says decisively. “That’s it for today. Mr. Kwon, I heard you are a good student. Your principal told me you finished first in your batch.”

“What?”

“That was supposed to be a secret,” Officer Kyung laughs. “Lee Jihoon came in second by a few points.”

“Oh, okay,” Soonyoung stares off. It’s his uncle’s dream for him; to finish high school as a valedictorian. Yet, he feels empty.

“But it doesn’t matter now, right? Look at your face. You should be happy.” Officer Kyung says, leaning forward, pointedly staring at him. “A missing complaint, unfortunately, is short-lived. In the future, more cases will pile up, and it will soon be forgotten, unless brought up again with a better bargain. So, I’m asking you, at least _you_ , to never stop looking for him—if he’s that important to you.” He stands up from his seat, and rips the paper of their interview, placing it inside his chest pocket. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

 

 

 

 

It dies down eventually.

It’s the day before their graduation, and he’s emptying his desk, stuffing his unused textbooks inside his bag. Aside from highlighters, inked out pens, and bits of shaved pencils—there lies his Statistics book. All their worksheets came from the internet if not from Mrs. Kim, and all of their lessons were encoded in her Powerpoint presentations. There wasn’t any need for the book. He wonders why the school required them to buy such a thing. _Capitalism_ comes a voice inside his head. Later, he realizes it’s his Economics teacher’s.

A stationary paper is stuck in the middle of the book. He doesn’t remember tucking an extra note, one with trial and errors, doodles and wrong equations—actually, the only time he has ever opened it was during their last quiz for the year, where Mrs. Kim had gone absent.

Inside is a letter from Jihoon.

***

 

9 YEARS LATER

 

Being one of the richest men in his country has its downfalls: 1) every waking day could be another potential day of somebody killing him, 2) it’s not a pretty ritual having one of his bodyguards taste his food first just to make sure the meal isn’t poisoned, and last but not the least, 3) assistants can really be a hassle. He’d much prefer dealing with paper works or reliving his active duty in the military as if it was a sweet memory.

“You have three meetings tomorrow. One with Choi Empire—”

“Tell Seungcheol to fuck off—”

“That’s in the morning,” Seungkwan offhandedly continues, his tone clipped, if not annoyed. “In the afternoon, you have one with the shipping company, and the other with Architect Yeo. There are a few complications in the contract, he says. You’re then free for the evening.”

“Seungkwan, you know I love you,” Soonyoung bats his eyelashes. He leaves the puzzle app on his phone unattended, conveniently deciding for a better measure. “Can you cancel all of my meetings tomorrow?”

Seungkwan flicks his forehead. “First and foremost, I have a boyfriend, and two, no I can’t. Seungcheol hyung has been bitching about the meeting ever since the holidays. And you can’t let the shipping company pass—who’s going to deliver our materials and equipment, hm? Especially with Architect Yeo; you don’t want our new condo to fuck up.”

“Seungkwan,” Soonyoung says pointedly. “I really love it when you curse.”

“You bribing me with compliments is not going to work.”

“You know, I wonder why you’re still working. I mean, you got yourself a sugar daddy—”

“I have a _boyfriend,_ not a sugar daddy,” Seungkwan corrects, tucking his clipboard under his armpit. He eyes Soonyoung, who’s wearing a rocket ship pajamas, along with a soft pair of hamster slippers.

“Seokmin owns what? Three chain restaurants. I don’t get why you’re still working here.”

“And you’re a multi-millionaire. I don’t get why you’re still bumming around.”

“You know, I like Mingyu more than you. At least he doesn’t give me sass.”

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” Seungkwan says. “And are you sure Mingyu doesn’t give you sass?”

“He does?” Soonyoung stares at Mingyu, who has been standing still for the duration of the banter. Like he always does, actually, whether it’d be in business dinners, meetings or parties. “You do?”

Mingyu clears his throat. “No, sir.”

“Anyway, why are you so intent on making me quit?” Seungkwan asks seriously.

“I just don’t like having assistants.” Soonyoung stretches his arms over his head. He shimmies his feet out of his slippers, placing his leg on the coffee table. _Yeah, assistants,_ psh, _making you do things you’re supposed to do_ , Seungkwan mumbles. “And Seokmin is well, you know— _don’t give my darling a hard time!_ ” Seungkwan blushes. “And he’s been very adamant about you moving in with him—which, by the way, you can always do if you want.”

“I am perfectly fine living in this penthouse with you and the others. I owe you a lot. Plus, if you really wanted me to quit, you would’ve fired me already. Admit it, you need me to baby your ass.”

Mingyu snickers. Soonyoung gives him a pointed look.

“That’s so sweet. If I wasn’t a multi-millionaire, lottery winner turned businessman, would you still be by my side?”

“No, because you wouldn’t have the money to save me from my miserable, miserable, miserable life. Good night. Set your own alarm before seven. I have other things to attend to the next morning. I won’t be able to wake you up.”

Soonyoung scowls, waving his hand vertically. “We have a barrier, Boo Seungkwan. See this?”

“Stop being so childish.”

“True,” Mingyu inputs and then stiffens up when Soonyoung turns to glare at him. Today is a day full of betrayals, and it’s by his two most trusted subordinates, _friends_ aside from Wonwoo and Junhui, who are having their honeymoon in Barcelona, subsequently just a week after their wedding.

(It involves Junhui crying on Wonwoo’s shoulder during their first dance as a wedded couple, and well, Soonyoung finishing off his steak whilst drinking his third wheel life away to a grander scale. Both are working at the construction firm his corporation is affiliated with, which makes their contact more tangible. Whenever they’d meet, it’s like high school all over again, and everything is funny.)

“I am,” Seungkwan checks his watch. “Sleepy. _Oh,_ and before I forget, Wonwoo hyung sent me this email, and had me print it.” He flips his clipboard open and hands him a piece of paper. “You’ve been neglecting your personal email. He said this was important.”

“Wow, they even have time to contact me,” he reads over the printed email, glowering. _Subject: High School Reunion._ “I don’t even remember half of my classmates back then.” Soonyoung hands him back the paper. “Tell Wonwoo and Junhui I’m not going.”

“You’re free on that day, though.”

“And I’d like to use that time wisely.”

“All you do is sleep and eat.”

“Sleeping and eating are better than falling in love,” Soonyoung says.

“Okay,” Seungkwan says slowly, and sighs. “But I’ll have you know that according to Wonwoo hyung,” he bites his lower lip. “Your old batchmates just recently saw an old friend of yours who has been missing for a long time. He told me that person was important to you.”

Seungkwan watches Soonyoung deflate like a tired balloon at a five-year old’s birthday party. It doesn’t pop—just falls from the ceiling, and then onto the ground. However, the party still continues, and it’s just lying there if not thrown away, stepped on by a mascot, or a kid who’s wearing Crocs. _Everyone has been moving_ , Soonyoung tells him one time. _Except for me._

“Go to sleep, Seungkwan. You and Mingyu. Let’s call it a day.”

“Soonyoung—”

“I’ll attend all of my meetings tomorrow, so don’t worry,” he waves off, reverting back to his phone, trying to complete this puzzle he has been cursing the whole night. “It’s getting late already.”

“Alright,” Seungkwan nods while Mingyu moves from his post. “Good night, hyung.”

Soonyoung waves him off, tapping away on his phone. He doesn’t look back.

***

 

Soonyoung didn’t go to college straight away. He enlisted for the military right after graduation, in hopes of finding Jihoon. Some said he ran away there; some said he made a deal with a gang and couldn’t do anything about it but to forfeit; some said he did drugs; some said he was kidnapped; and some said he was dead.

Soonyoung wins the lottery after fulfilling his active duty, and built an empire for himself—condominiums, house and lots, townhouses, and restaurants—his uncle’s to be exact; now a nationwide eatery with famous celebrities as endorsers. Prior to his fame and fortune, he’s read enough stories of lottery winners losing their money in two or three nights after receiving their prize. He isn’t one of them. He’s been drawing ever since his freshman year out of habit, but never really put much thought to it—and really, it’s a miracle, staring at the television with the exact same numbers he had shaded. His win is another story.

He still got his scholarship to the college he wanted to attend, and he doesn’t need a fake I.D anymore to buy drinks since he’s legal of age already. His body is more built now thanks to his time in the military, and really, not much has changed: his uncle is still as loud and enthusiastic as ever, Wonwoo and Junhui are still shitheads, and Lee Jihoon is still nowhere to be found.

But he believes that he’s somewhere out there, alive, running away, or maybe just standing still.

***

 

_Dear Soonyoung,_

 

_I will be fine._

_Thank you for kissing me that night._

_Have been yours since forever,_

_Lee Jihoon_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter.
> 
> The night Soonyoung and Jihoon spent together will slowly be revealed all throughout the story! (When will I let go of my flashback-present writing style??? help??)
> 
> Once again, thank you! Kudos and feedback are very much appreciated! 
> 
> Hmu on twitter: @twentycarat


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OST [here.](https://open.spotify.com/user/frontingsss/playlist/0gVDSu18ld0RGtndhBdu5h) (will be updated perpetually!)

 

 

**_A Season's Anthology_ **

_Somewhere between winter and spring,_

_where the snow slowly disperses with heat—_

_the pavements drip with that of puddles,_

_splashing against my boots_

_as I walk this road with you;_

_the cold stays much after its season had gone by,_

_but apart from all the black and white and the melting snow,_

_the leaves grow into a vibrant color,_

_standing out among the rest;_

_such is the time I had first fallen in love._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung has been on this chair multiple times, but it’s only right at this moment that he feels the weight of it; the working air conditioning unit; the principal’s stare; his homeroom teacher’s apologetic pat.

“Mr. Kwon, we’ve already contacted your uncle. He’ll be here in a few.”

Soonyoung doesn’t reply. His hands gripped his knees, one of each, clenching and unclenching his fists, feeling the scratch under his uniform slacks. The clock ticks at a steady pace, and the air conditioning unit buzzes almost inaudibly, but he hears enough. It rests every five minutes and then goes back on, and it’s only then that he can tell the difference how quiet the place could’ve been if it was turned off completely.

“There’s a possibility that you won’t be able to march for graduation, considering the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Then don’t let me march—”

“Soonyoung.” His homeroom teacher warns although he means well.

“Going to clubs and bar hopping is one thing,” the principal says, and from the way he has stood up from his chair, it’s obvious how he’s losing his patience. “Making a fuss in the police station is another. Graduation is in a few days, Mr. Kwon, and the board is reconsidering your rank due to your boisterous behavior toward the police—”

“They weren’t doing anything,” Soonyoung says. His voice trembles, breath hitching, feeling his face react from the sting his tears had brought. He hates crying, especially in front of someone who belittles and hates him. Though he needs to explain, feeling sorry of his uncle who must’ve used the delivery motorcycle to drive all the way here just to cover yet another misconduct of his’, forced to apologize even if he didn’t do anything wrong in raising him.

The police had promised safety to the people but all they’ve done so far was indulge in bitter coffee, asking him to wait by the benches only to tell the case will most likely get dropped if not appealed by the higher-ups—in the case that an occurrence so obvious can track where Jihoon had gone. But haven’t they solved multiple missing cases? It’s nowhere near murder cases, which takes months and years to solve. They have different branches all over the country that could help find Jihoon, but all they were doing was laughing over their desks while he sits and waits for nothing. He stands up from his seat, the chair falling off behind him. “They weren’t doing anything! They dropped the case just like that!”

“Soonyoung, please calm down—”

“He’s missing! If they don’t do anything, something bad might happen to him—”

The next thing he knows, he’s trashing, and the next he’s being held down, and he didn’t know his uncle had arrived until he had yelled at the principal for accusing his him wrongly of a batchmate’s disappearance. _Why do you sound so guilty?_ Asks the principal and Soonyoung cries even more, not because he was but because he felt _empty_ , frustrated, and most of all, helpless.

His uncle pushes him out of the room and he covers his eyes with the heels of his palms, trying to recover his breathing. His uncle tells him that it’s okay to cry, to let it all out, but they were in the hallway, students coming out of their classrooms to witness his breakdown. He feels the need to be reserved; to hide; and to shy away from the whole situation, because _fuck_ , he does care about what the others think of him. It gets to his head—all the rumors, the accusation and the insults.

Jonghyun, his uncle, tells him to not look back and leads him to where he had parked his motorcycle. The drive back home was quiet, lifting his hand to wipe his tears in red lights. When they arrive, the restaurant is half-full but the part-time crew is doing well, so there’s no need to worry. He ignores their questions and comforting pats, rushing to climbs up the stairs, where the living room is. Jonghyun asks him to calm down whilst handing him a glass of water.

“Hey bud, you know it’s not your fault, right?”

Soonyoung nods mutely.

“I want to ask you to stop looking for him, but give me a reason to not to. It’s becoming very detrimental to you and I’m getting worried.”

Soonyoung shakily drinks the glass of water and stays silent.

“Is it because of your conscience?” Soonyoung looks down on his lap. “It’s because you like him, don’t you? You spent that Saturday night together and got closer than ever—and then he just disappeared.”

Soonyoung’s lip trembles. “I want to find him not because I want him to be with me,” Soonyoung has always been a bright child, but when he looks up to his eyes, Jonghyun prays that in the time Soonyoung would experience sadness it wouldn’t be something that went beyond this. “But because I want him to be okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung, a little older and a little more tired, dreams of his high school days in faded black, nine years worth of memories meeting a cul-de-sac.

Apart from petty fist fights, principal office trips and cramping hands from detention hours (either from cleaning the boys’ bathroom past five in the evening or from writing _I will not plagiarize a personal reflection paper_ over and over again until two long bond papers, back to back, are filled), Soonyoung still considers his high school days a good bedtime story, or a valued conversation topic over beer and billiards.

“I’ve done nothing wrong in my life. Ever.”

“I know this and I love you, man.”

Soonyoung laughs over the rim of his mug. He extends his arms to where the small circular table is, placing his drink on the mat, wiping his mouth with the end of his sleeves, which he rolls right after Seungcheol had asked for another round. They met each other in this Billiards bar and café only by pure coincidence, which was funny because earlier they just had a conjoined meeting. It might’ve gone well but they aren’t the type of friends to plan an outing right after seeing each other at work, which happens rarely. Talk about being clingy.

“Loser pays the bill this time. You suck at this so much, by the way.” Soonyoung says, scuffing the tip of his cue. Seungcheol lifts the ball rack off the velvet pool table. What leaves his mouth after is his pride, “I’ll have you know that I once won a billiard competition.”

“Yeah, right. In a variety show. You went against idol kids.”

“Wow, you talk as if you’re a master at pool,” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, leaning to make a strike. The 1, 4 and 5 get in and Seungcheol stares at him as if to say _beat that._ “And it’s nice to know that you’re monitoring my TV appearances.”

“No, my assistant just won’t shut up about it,” Soonyoung says, angling to shoot the 2 after Seungcheol had swerved his move, the ball, and the cue clacking faintly as if they didn’t even touch. Seungcheol has his bad days in pool. Today’s one of them. Well, Seungcheol’s a slow-starter. He picks up his game by the far end of every match, so Soonyoung refuses to be lax and decides to go in for a streak. Paying for the bill isn’t much of a consequence, but their pride is on the line—which is the real trophy. It doesn’t get in the way of their friendship, however, just a friendly teasing of _I’m better than you_ , camaraderie disguised with petty banters and if they look back, a harmless competition of who ranked higher in the list of the _Hottest Bachelors of the Year._

“How long have you been playing pool?” Seungcheol asks, leaning his weight against his cue. He watches Soonyoung circle the table, rubbing his hands with baby powder.

“Ever since high school, I think.”

Seungcheol leans against the post, right under one of the three hung television in the bar. The place is especially buzzing because Thank God it’s Friday, and most tables have been occupied by businessmen like them, underage drinkers illegally winding up beers in a dozen, which he used to do, and people who just simply wants to have a good time, which he wished he was one of.

Seungcheol makes a noise of acknowledgment. “High school was just one big pile of bullshit, but sometimes something good comes out of it, you know? Like playing pool or meeting the love of your life.”

Soonyoung raises his eyebrows and gestures Seungcheol for his turn. The latter pushes himself off the wall, standing on the top right corner of the table from where Soonyoung was standing. He shoots a ball, and then another. “Did you meet the love of your life in high school?”

“Nope,” Seungcheol says, aiming for one of the last two balls. “But some did. I don’t know how they managed to do that.” Soonyoung thinks of Junhui and Wonwoo. “Like when things happen in high school, it’s guaranteed to not last forever. Friendships are maybe an exception, but you know what I’m talking about—relationships, rules, and useless topics we lost sleep for.”

Soonyoung adds, “And people. They don’t last forever.”

“Damn. Do you want to talk about it? I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen.”

“It’s fine,” he does talk about it. “I don’t remember much of high school, except for— _well_ , as I’ve said—all the times I’ve been sent to the principal’s office—but,” he sighs, finishing his beer, elbow resting on the table, while his fingers played with a scuffer, cue against his waist, arms wrapped around the thin base to keep it balanced. “There was this guy,” he pauses, shaking his head slightly. “He disappeared right after we kissed.”

“That sounds like something out of a fairytale book,” Seungcheol comments. “A twisted one, like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty gone wrong.”

“You’re ruining the mood, you know.”

“That was the plan,” Seungcheol says. Soonyoung’s reminded of why he had decided to stick around Seungcheol. He’s a good friend, a good hyung, and he might be a little shit sometimes, but if Soonyoung were given the chance to choose an older sibling for his next life, he’d want it to be Seungcheol. “Lighten up, man. You don’t have to force yourself to talk about it.”

“It’s okay.” Soonyoung continues, “I enlisted early to look for him in the military. And after winning the lottery, the first thing I did was run to the police station to appeal the case—which they never solved.”

“Did you ever stop looking, though?”

Soonyoung pauses. His smile is sad. The sun had already set, but it’s as if it just did.

“No,” Soonyoung shakes his head. “Not really. I’ve stopped appealing to the police stations, yes, and stopped trying to get information from social media altogether—but I still look for him in crowds where I don’t expect him to appear. Like, I’ll be walking around the mall, and imagine him going out of a clothing store, and then I’d tell him how much I fucking missed him, but at the same time…I’d be frustrated? Mad? Wait, no, definitely not mad. Maybe just kind of…sad.” Soonyoung cards his finger through his dark hair. “People would ask me _‘why didn’t you try harder?’_ but then I thought what if he doesn’t even want to be found? I’ve decided to move on then.”

“Well, have you moved on?”

“In the process of doing so. I dated around but…it’s just really hard to let go of something that didn’t have closure.”

“Maybe because it’s not the end of the story yet?” Seungcheol offers.

Soonyoung chuckles. “No, it’s kind of toxic to have that mindset. I’m trying to treat myself better, you know. You have no idea how many times or how long I’ve beaten myself up for this.”

“But what if he appears right in front of you suddenly? What would you do?”

“Depends,” Soonyoung says. “I’ve imagined it many times, but I still don’t know.”  

Seungcheol nods and doesn’t say anything more, which he appreciated. There are only two balls left, in which could be shot in easy angles. They revert back to their usual atmosphere, where winning is everything and pool is life. Soonyoung takes a brief moment to down his drink and accepts the reality that is his loss, casually throwing a glance toward the television just for the sake of it, opting to have his eyes dart to somewhere else rather than Seungcheol’s refilled ego. He would’ve appreciated the minor distraction if it was just a commercial of a perfume, a cosmetic line, or whatever, but—

“Shit,” Soonyoung whispers. “Seungcheol.”

“Can’t hear you. I’m too busy winning!”

“Seungcheol,” he calls more sternly now, alarmed, eyes glued to the newscaster, and the peculiar image of his good friend and a guy, whose quality knew the name of scandal. “Seungcheol, you fuck—”

“I won! Screw you, Soonyoung, I—”

“You motherfucker, you’re on the news!”

Seungcheol halts, drawing his eyebrows in confusion. He turns, cue falling on the floor, and yells a loud curse, which had many heads shift to their direction. If they bothered to watch the news by their section, then they would’ve understood the context, but most are busy with their own leisure, which both men were thankful for.

_“One of the most eligible bachelors in the country now taken? Dispatch releases photos of Choi Seungcheol and award-winning author Yoon Jeonghan sharing a kiss at a parking lot—”_

“Oh,” Seungcheol laughs, _haha’s_ strictly separated by syllables. “Shit.”

Soonyoung, the asshole, claps his hands together and laughs. “Congrats, dude! You have a dating scandal!”

Seungcheol _falls._ “I was expecting some comfort but okay. Thanks.”

“So, why didn’t you tell me?” Soonyoung’s tone lowers, and he’s, by all means, accusatory, arms folded, staring down at Seungcheol who shrunk smaller and smaller by the second.

“Does that really matter now?”

“Uh, yes? _I_ matter.”

“Shove off.”

“Ouch,” Soonyoung says monotonously, holding his hand over his chest. “What are you going to do now?”

“Check if he’s doing okay. I’m just—I’m worried. I hope he’s not reading articles right now,” he fishes for his phone, and just when he turned it on, his phone rings, an unknown number flashing on the screen. It’s not like he has a choice. It could be his publicist’s number he hadn’t bothered saving. Woe is him if it was a news outlet. “Who’s this?”

_“Hello, I’m Yoon Jeonghan’s editor, and if you’re not by Jeonghan’s condo unit in twenty minutes, your ass is going to be handed on a silver platter. Bye.”_

“Wait, wait, wait—” Seungcheol retracts his phone from his ear and stares helplessly at Soonyoung. “Soonyoung, I’m going to die!”

“You’re not going to die. It’s just a dating scandal.”

“No, not because of that but because of—” he points to his phone. “This!”

Soonyoung gasps. “What has Samsung ever done to you?”

Seungcheol pauses. He endorses this product. “Poor battery life _but_ that’s not the point! I’m going to die by the hands of Jeonghan’s editor from hell.” He places his phone on the table and cups his pockets for his car keys. “I have to go _now_. Fuck, see you, dude.”

Seungcheol runs off, patting him on the shoulder, not forgetting to remind him to pay the bill for a quick second. He sighs, shaking his head and turns off the television. He calls for a waiter whilst making drawing a square with his fingers, asking for the bill. When the waiter arrives, he quickly tucks the money in, telling him to keep the change as his tip and offs to leave but not before finishing his beer to its last drop.

Apparently, Seungcheol had accidentally left his phone from his hurry in arriving at his lover’s condo as per request by said lover’s editor ‘from hell.’ He has been hearing that connotation for a while. He hasn’t been entirely associated with it, though, since he didn’t have the chance to experience a position wherein fear can have you identify a person in authority as someone who resides by the devil’s abode. He was the person in authority and he liked to think he was charming.

He turns on his own phone and types _Yoon Jeonghan birthday_ in the search engine of his browser. The fourth of October. 1004. Soonyoung tries the numbers on Seungcheol’s phone, and it successfully unlocks, revealing Seungcheol’s call history.

He clicks on the most recent one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Who is Yoon Jeonghan anyway? I haven’t read any of his books. I’m sure he’s dating Choi Seungcheol for publicity. What a scum.”_

 

“How many times do I have to repeat myself? He’s not ready to face the media yet—or literally anyone, for that matter. Block all calls from news outlets if you have to! _Yes_ , I am very well aware that I am not his publicist—and can you please just fucking shut up for a while? I’m talking. Yes, thank you. _That’s good._ Thanks. Bye.”

“Don’t correct netizens’ grammar as you read,” Jihoon says while pocketing his phone, turning to Jeonghan after a heated phone call with one of the department heads in the company, leaning his hip against the side of the sofa, massaging his temples. “Makes me fucking sick. Can you stay off the internet for a while?”

 _“He stole my oppa! Yuyuyuyuyuyu,”_ Jeonghan continues monotonously, scrolling further on his phone, lifting his pinky as if he’s holding a cup of tea. _“I wonder what Choi Seungcheol saw in him? I’d understand the situation more if he was dating a supermodel.”_

“Are you done?”

“I think so, yeah,” Jeonghan says, placing his phone on the coffee table— _no_ , throwing. It slides off the edge and then falls onto the soft carpet. Jihoon doesn’t bother picking it up because let’s be real, Jeonghan needs to get used to staying off the net or withdrawing himself from anything that involved his phone. A week at best; a month at worst. Either way, it’s already saying something if it has to be more than twenty-four hours. But Jeonghan is Jeonghan. He falls to his knees and bends over the table, reaching for his phone almost easily. _Almost_ because Jihoon kicks it away the moment his fingertips touch the keychain.

“Jihoon!” Jeonghan grieves, fingers curling and uncurling toward his phone. He stays sagging in his position, marbles digging onto his stomach. His arms fall in defeat. “Give me my phone!”

“Not when you’re crying,” Jihoon says. It would’ve been a taunt he’d indulge in if it weren’t true. Jeonghan stands up, groaning when his knees hit the edge of the table, wiping his tears with the sleeves of his black, knitted sweatshirt. Thirty-three floors below, the population is denser, the weekend coming by like a good ‘ol friend enveloped by a warm welcome as midnight nears. The very same building they’re standing on houses families with teenagers or teenagers just living alone—by this time they must’ve already found out that Yoon Jeonghan, award-winning author and Choi Seungcheol, showbiz personality and CEO of Choi Empire are very much in love and dating, and apparently, parking lots aren’t really the best place to hide a relationship. _Thanks, Dispatch!_ Somewhere in the distance, Seungcheol’s avid teenager fans are crying, and Jihoon would so love to hear it if only Jeonghan wasn’t sniffling so loud.    

What comes after the cries of netizens? Rage, insults, and bitterness. Apart from Jeonghan’s publicist, it’s also his job to keep those comments at a minimal rate. Jeonghan is his friend and he doesn’t mind doing all of these things for him, but he couldn’t help but scream:

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Choi Seungcheol?!” he asks, crossing his arms. “You were just across me the whole fucking time and if I hadn’t turned the television on, I would never have found out.” The news looked pretty damn romantic for such an ungodly hour—with Seungcheol and Jeonghan nuzzling their noses together by what seemed like a parking lot. Dating isn’t discouraged in the company, especially among the authors' pool. Their experiences reflect their art, after all. Most of the time, it’s not worth dwelling upon as per anchor’s and journalist’s preferences. But of course, it’s another story if you’re dating one of the hottest bachelors in the country. “Yoon Jeonghan, answer me right here and right now.”

 _“Because,”_ Jeonghan tries to reason, snot all over his face. In between hiccups, “You’d get mad at me—like okay, I’ve dated a lot before and it was totally fine, but this time, I knew you were going to get mad.”

“Oh, _I am_ because I could’ve used all of this time to sleep or to spend time with my cat, but here I am in your condo, _this fucking close_ in ripping my own head off. I support you and all, I promise, but really, _Choi Seungcheol?_ One of the most eligible bachelors out there? _How?”_

“I don’t know! It just happened,” Jeonghan says. “We met at a business party and we just…talked. He’s very charming, you know? Look, I’ve been hurt a lot of times before, thus my books. You know that better than anyone. I should be scared but oh my God. Whenever I spend time with him it just feels so different.”

Jihoon frowns. “I’m not questioning your feelings for him. I’m happy as long as you’re happy. I’ll burn all of my clothes with his goddamn brand if he ever hurts you, _but_ ,” he bites his lower lip. “You just have to be more careful now.”

“Yes, I know,” Jeonghan nods sincerely, still weeping, wiping his tears with his small, couch pillow. “It’s just—I’m so _sad_ and _mad._ I don’t get why people are so upset. Why? Can’t famous people date?”  

“I’m going to kill you if you read more articles about your own scandal.”

Jeonghan cries even more. Work-wise, Jihoon signed up to be his editor, not his caretaker nor publicist. Goddamn. His pay should be tripled. Jeonghan has heard his complaints about two times already, and he’d always retort: _you love me_ , elongating the o’s.

“I’m going to die!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why? There are still other hot CEOs out there! For example, Lee Seokmin!”

“He has dating rumors.” Jihoon inputs.

Jeonghan continues to list more Successful Men, _hot men_. He’s been reading too much GQ lately. It wasn’t so long ago that he promised to cancel his subscription. Obviously, he didn’t— _no,_ more like _couldn’t_.

“Choi Minho?”

“Getting married next week.”

“Son Hyunwoo?”

“Taken.”

“Oh Sehun?”

“Are you seriously going to list down every bachelor from that GQ magazine list?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan confirms, and should Jihoon be worried of the sincerity that dripped in his tone, he very much is. “In hopes of living my life peacefully.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes and answers, “Taken.”

“How about Kwon Soonyoung?” Jeonghan suggests thoughtfully as if sacrificing a successful businessman would ease him to sleep later tonight. Jihoon freezes, just for a brief second. “He owns like, huge condominiums and other stuff! He’s hot, charismatic and smart. Why don’t people go for him instead? Me dating Seungcheol is just less one hot man in the market.”

“Look, Jeonghan, the wound is still fresh. Let the situation simmer down for a while and then you can sacrifice all the bachelors you want to sacrifice. If it helps you sleep at night.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just—really stressed. Seungcheol makes me so happy, you know?”

“I could tell,” Jihoon says, whipping out his phone. “Which is why I need your phone.”

“What? Why?” Jeonghan asks, but he’s already handing him his phone. Trust is built in dire situations like shoveling Jeonghan out of his heaps of clothes a week before his deadlines, and running on watery coffee or cursing capitalists to hell for overpriced latte. Jihoon is almost touched. Jeonghan had dedicated a book for him once, and it was one of his most critically-acclaimed, now in talks for a movie—which he hopes, doesn’t fuck up, since film adaptations are a literal do or die. With the right casting and hopefully accurate screenplay, the normalcy of a simple man’s dream seems within reach—the normalcy being relieved of stress. But that’s for another time.

“To scold him.” Jihoon copies Seungcheol’s number to his contacts and hits the green button, pushing Jeonghan back by his forehead when he had plunged forward.  

“Hello, I’m Yoon Jeonghan’s editor, and if you’re not by Jeonghan’s condo unit in twenty minutes, your ass is going to be handed on a silver platter. _Bye._ ”

_“Wait! Wait! Wait—”_

Jeonghan falls to the ground. “Well, at least we’re going to die together. That’s kind of romantic.”

Both of them went silent right after, Jeonghan immersing himself in reading more and more articles about his ‘scandal,’ albeit Jihoon’s protests, which soon turned soft and maybe a bit hopeless—Jihoon used to think of Jeonghan’s masochism as debatable, but right now, he’s sure that he was indeed, because not only does he find pleasure from killing off his own favorite characters or have them fall terminally ill, he also finds hate comments about himself intensively engaging. Everything will be resolved soon once his beau arrives, though. He knew that Seungcheol would’ve even if he didn’t call, but it wouldn’t hurt to rush him to help aid Jeonghan.

His phone rings after a few minutes and speak of the devil—

“What are you doing? I told you to get your ass here as soon as possible—”

 _“Seungcheol already left, he just forgot his phone. Now can you please tell me where you all are so I can return it.”_ The guy says, who definitely wasn’t Seungcheol. He almost sounds bored.

He pauses, raising his eyebrows in suspicion. “How do I know that you’re not some creepy dude who just picked up his phone?”

He hears the guy scoff. Something rustles on the other end of the line, so the guy must’ve moved from where he was. _“Who am I talking to?”_

 _“_ Why do you need to know?”

_“Answer my question first.”_

_“_ I’m Yoon Jeonghan’s editor.” He answers easily.

_“I asked for a name.”_

He comes to the conclusion that arguing with a stranger over the phone will do him no good, so he gives in, and prepares a back-up plan inwardly, thankful that he has the police on speed dial if the guy really turned out to be a creep. “Holangi Tower 2, 4231. You better show up.”

_“Got it. Thanks.”_

Jihoon ends the call, screen turning back to where it left off—it was a text from his sister in pure caps lock and if he closes his eyes and yields enough focus, he could hear her scream, all with the accurate tone, accent and octaves as if his mind had archived all the times she had nagged him.

 

**`Lee Soonkyu` **

`BRING HOME SOME SOJU!!!!`

**`Lee Jihoon` **

`????? You’re not going to drink alcohol with Jinsol there.`

**`Lee Soonkyu` **

`Jinsol is sleeping over with a friend!!!! Come on, Jihoonie!!!!`

 

“Jeonghan, I’m going down to buy something from the convenience store. I’ll be back soon.”

“No, don’t leave me,” Jeonghan whines.

“Your boyfriend will arrive in a few minutes—” the doorbell rings. “And that’s probably him,” he takes a stride, opening the door with haste. Seungcheol smells of booze and secondhand smoke, hair disheveled, collar folded in the wrong places. Should he be concerned, he isn’t but he pats Seungcheol and tells him, “take care of him,” and runs all the way to the elevator to give the couple they privacy they deserved.

He had planned to leave altogether but ditches the idea since he should probably discuss the precautions both Seungcheol and Jeonghan should take before stepping out in the public. He takes it upon himself rather than waiting for Jeonghan’s publicist, who is MIA. Maybe Seungcheol’s publicist can help if he was responsive enough.

He reaches the lobby after the five-minute elevator ride and rushes to the convenience store to buy the soju his sister had wanted and maybe himself, too. He enters, pulling the hood of his jacket over, the bell above the door jingling. He takes his time to go over the aisles, passing through laundry powders and orange juice packs until he reaches the alcohol section by the far corner of the store, in front of the refrigerators.

He hears the bell jingle again but pays no attention, too immersed in deciding which brand and flavor to buy. Raspberry soju tastes like rubbing alcohol—not that he has ever tasted it—but if it had a flavor, it would be exactly like that, so he crosses it off the list. He settles for the original ones, staying classic, stuffing about six bottles to his arms, trusting his luck.

He takes small steps toward the cashier, clutching the bottles tightly, leaning over to place them altogether on the counter. The girl pops her gum, taking her time to scan bottle by bottle when she could’ve multiplied all of them to make her job easier—Jihoon would know because he once had a cashier job right after he dropped out from high school— _well_ , ‘drop out’ sounds too harsh, since he got to continue his studies elsewhere, thanks to special connections he didn’t know he had until his biological mother had shown up on the doorstep of his foster home, his foster parents being away.

“That will be 12,000 won.”

“Alright,” Jihoon says, dipping his hands into each of his pockets, and then onto the back. He feels someone fall in line behind him, which makes the whole thing more embarrassing than it is. Shit. He forgot his wallet in Jeonghan’s unit. He laughs nervously and weighs whether it’s worth disturbing Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s time over alcohol or not. “Wait a second, I’ll just—” he forgot his cellphone, too.

The man behind him groans, pushing him away by his shoulders, and tells the girl, “I’ll pay for him.”

Aside and bowing, “No, you don’t have to do that. I’ll just go get my wallet real’ quick and—”  

“You were holding up the line,” the guy reasons. He keeps his head bowed as thanks and accepts the plastic bag from him. He promises to pay him back if he could just wait for him to get his wallet in the unit, but the guy just waves him off. He lifts his head, feeling his heart blow with something that he has been trying to avoid for the past nine years.

 

_Somewhere between winter and spring,_

_where the snow slowly disperses with heat—_

 

 

“You don’t have to pay me back. It’d be such a hassle.”

 

 

_the pavements drip with that of puddles,_

_splashing against my boots_

_as I walk this road with you;_

 

_(“I’ll see you on Monday?”_

_“Yeah. I’ll see you on Monday.”)_

 

_the cold stays much after its season had gone by,_

_but apart from all the black and white and the melting snow,_

“Seriously…who forgets their wallet while buying half a dozen of soju…”

 

 

_the leaves grow into a vibrant color,_

_standing out among the rest;_

_such is the time I had first fallen in love._

 

 

Jihoon’s first love tastes bittersweet and it rests on the roof of his mouth—heart pounding so wildly that he feels his eyes sting, the hood of his jacket sliding off his head.

“Lee Jihoon?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'A Season's Anthology' was written by yours truly. It's a piece about first love and falling in love where you least expect to. Love is as pure as snow, but soon it will melt to grow into a mature love that condones choices and commitment more than feelings. Despite the seasonal changes (which represents how one falls in love), one thing stays constant (in this piece): your first love - where you have the chance to fall for purely and/or at the same time maturely, progressively and/or initially. 
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> Thank you so much for y'all wonderful feedbacks for the first chapter. <3 it really motivated me to write!  
> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

`NINE YEARS AGO`

 

 

“This pile of junk is quite heavy. Can you perhaps chuck it away in the stock room? We won’t be needing these anymore.”

Soonyoung sets the straight-edged brush on the wet newspaper by his feet, the pages decorated with dirty combinations of paint, texts, and images fading off with a month’s worth of work. The fair committee has scavenged enough issues to protect the floor from being stained, and most are, unfortunately, school newspapers, which had Seojoon upset and cursing lowly under his breath—but for only in the first hour. Everyone falls under a spell of silence, acquainting themselves with props to paint and fumes to smell and cough about.

Everyone’s busy. If not painting props, they’re hanging up tarpaulins or appealing proposals with sponsors over the phone. Some are moving stalls and decorations farther to their left or right, while the others—the non-fair committee members—practice for their presentations. For the past years, Soonyoung hadn’t really been one of the pre-production people. Well, so far, his classes had been assigned to easy activities like a mini café or a horror house, so all he had to was dress up nicely as a server on the day itself or dress up badly as a zombie with a heat pack tucked inside his jeans pocket, right under his ragged costume. He finds pleasure in the extremes of pleasing customers to scaring them.

He’s never been in the fair committee until this year. His class had been assigned to a lovers’ park or some shit where couples would go through obstacles to better their relationship. It’s a lot of work, so he’s glad that all of his offenses in the first semester piled up, resulting him in joining the fair committee to make up for his supposed detention hours. It’s better to swish brushes than to come up with what seems like a quasi-couple counseling activity.

And of course—

“Soonyoung?” Jihoon calls his attention once again. “Can you please carry these for me?”

Soonyoung blinks. “Oh yeah, sure,” he unties his apron. Seojoon, their committee head and one of the panelists in their school newspaper, had brought it for them as a joke. But it turned out to be pretty useful in the end, saving Soonyoung an earful from his uncle’s laundry melancholy. He takes the box from Jihoon. It wasn’t that heavy.

“I know,” Jihoon grins cheekily, walking with him toward the stock room. “I was just too lazy to carry it.”

“Wow, what a way to abuse your powers.” He pursed his lips together as soon as the words came out. He and Jihoon aren’t that close, at least not on the level where he could joke around with him. But Jihoon just laughs whilst scanning the shelves of the stock room, eyes darting back and forth between him and the clipboard he’s holding.

Soonyoung’s heart is beating so fast. It drops to his stomach, and he just feels like curling over—a poor attempt to lift the weight of all the words he wants to say, the urge to hold Jihoon’s hand, and daydreams of just simply being with him. The sweet taste of his first love rests at the back of his throat, and he wonders if he’s capable of falling for someone else in the future like how he fell for Jihoon.

“You know, I’ve known you for a while—if it weren’t for your conduct grades, then you would’ve already outranked me in the first semester,” Jihoon says, wearing a roll of duct tape on his wrist. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, but you’re not as bad as what people usually say.”

“Why? What do they say about me?” It’s not like he cared what other people thought of him, but since it came from Jihoon, he might as well do.

“Like that one time where you got reprimanded in front of the whole faculty for tweaking the school’s bell. And that one time where you clubbed with some of your friends and got caught in a fight. You were sent to the police station…”

“Okay, let me explain myself. We had earlier dismissals because of that bell incident. It was beneficial for us students, at least, for only a week or two. And I only got into a fight because some dude was hitting on my friend.”

“No need to defend yourself. I think you’re really impressive.”

“Thanks,” Soonyoung scratches the back of his head with his blue, red and green stained fingers. “You, too. I mean—you’re impressive, too.”

“Prove it to them,” Jihoon says. Maybe this was the reason why he got attached to him.  “Prove it to them that you’re this intelligent, wise and nice person. People need to stop belittling you just because you did _this_ and _that_. I believe that you have a kind heart. I believe in you, Kwon Soonyoung.”

Lee Jihoon was one of the first people who believed in him.

 

 

***

 

 

 

`HOUR 1, 11 PM – 12 AM`

 

Lee Jihoon has a way with words.

Soonyoung has seen him win inter-school debate competitions, and has appeared in the school news paper’s panels at least once or twice in every three months. His photo is cropped in a circle, printed in black and white, connoted with _Student Council President_ , right before where his column starts. He’s known for his speeches, and he usually stands by the side of the stage to make a weekly report of the activities to be held for the following days. His posture is just right, his uniform tucked neatly in his slacks, making him every students’ dream to be.

“I’m craving for pizza, chicken, and beer. Like I had beer a while ago but I have a high tolerance, so drinking again isn’t much of a problem. At least for me. How about you?”

“I have a high tolerance, too, and I know a pizza parlor downtown that serves all of those. And cake.”

They walk with occasional conversations. Sometimes Jihoon hops while walking, dragging his feet twice as if he was jumping. He moves lightly. Soonyoung tells him about the girls that were trying to flirt with him back in the bar, which made Jihoon laugh. They don’t talk about school even if it was, amongst other, their strongest connection. Soonyoung found it nice.

When they found the pizza parlor and chose a table to their liking, Jihoon starts, rolling the crust of the pizza until it meets its tip, “We’re not _that_ close,” his face is stuffed, mouth crowned by leftover crumbs, which he soon wiped off with the back of his hand because the tissue holder was empty. He swallows with sips of unending Coke, fingers curling from the sting that traveled all the way down his throat, releasing a fresh breath. He reaches for the platter, hand working its way to dump the piece of anchovies to the pepperoni one. “I mean, don’t take it the wrong way, but it’s the truth, right? We’re close enough to be friends but not friends-friends?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung agrees. He’s not the type to shy away from given facts, especially if it’s something that he has to live with for the years he started taking interest in Jihoon. A one-sided, unrequited glory in its truest form, shining so bright that if he tries to close his eyes, he would still see it.

“I wish we were, though— _close_. I wished we were close. You’re so hard to not notice, you know. Girls and boys talk about you all the time. The first time I heard about you was, well, during Freshman year. God, people won’t shut up about you. It was annoying. But thanks to that, I got curious and looked for you.”

Soonyoung picks up from there, keeping up with the pace—not that he’s having a hard time with it. Everything just feels so surreal to the point where he tries to distinguish the line between fiction and reality; a hallucination or a dream come true. But he’s pinched with the latter’s—not slapped yet—that _this is real, this is happening._ “I hope you weren’t dissatisfied with what you found.”

Jihoon leans forward, covering a small distance, that the chair creaks. Just a little. They’re the only ones in the pizza parlor—them and a middle-aged man going through a pizza catalog even if the menu is just right in front of him. Jihoon spoke with enthusiasm, flipping pizzas together, pouring himself pitchers of soft drinks—but this time, he turns lax, just as powerful; eyes just as bright. “I thought you were really handsome. You had your uniform untucked. I’ve always dreamt of doing that since I feel tacky and uptight all the time. I was with Minseok the first time I saw you. It was also the first time I felt that I was holding the wrong hand.”

He knew Jihoon and Minseok used to date. Some sources have said that their relationship was supposed to be a secret, but then someone caught them making out inside an empty room, and spilled the whole thing. Minseok had referred to Jihoon as his boyfriend that is in the same batch as he is, and nothing else. They broke it off months ago, completely civil and completely okay. Minseok had told him: _it’s okay, he has his priorities. I have mine, too._

“Why did you feel like you were holding the wrong hand?” Soonyoung’s voice is soft.

“I liked Minseok. When he asked me out, I immediately said ‘yes.’ I was giddy because you know, he was older. It was cool. But then, when I was holding his hand that time, I thought of holding someone else’s hand instead, or maybe, no ones at all. That’s when I knew that I didn’t really like Minseok that way.” Jihoon laughs out of the convenience of the atmosphere. There are the whispers of the crew behind the counters, the distant rumbling of the oven in the kitchen, and the clanking of utensils. The middle-aged man leaves with his pizza catalog, tucking it safely into his back pocket. “You must be thinking: _what does this have anything to do with me?_ ” he was. “I don’t know if you remember, but you came up to me and Minseok and greeted us. We were outside the school, two or three streets away. You said you were escaping detention. I thought you were doing something bad? Illegal in the eyes of the school department? I don’t know. But…a stray cat was following you and you were holding a piece of bread.”

“That cat…” Soonyoung remembers her, fur stuck in places all over, shivering inside a wet dirty box, sitting on a ragged blanket whose print is that of a monkey eating a banana. In the present time, it resides cleanly by the far corner of his drawer, where his lamp stood, covering early postcards from his parents, which never came again. “I took her in. She died because she accidentally swallowed a chicken bone when we fed her leftovers from the restaurant.”

“Does she have a name?”

“She deserves a name, but I couldn’t think of anything. I just called her ‘my cat.’ I thought that if I give her a name, I’d just get more attached. I was scared.”

“I think it’s the same with people. When you give someone your name and they give you theirs, you’ll be kind of bound to care for them—even if you don’t know them completely.”

“That’s true.”

Jihoon smiles lightly. “You know, right at that moment, I knew you had a kind heart. You might not remember it but that’s when I realized that not everyone is confined with what people think of them or what the school makes them out to be. We have stories outside our classrooms, but I thought—I thought—Minseok was _just_ high school.”

He takes a shot. His pizza is already cold and the ice in his Coke have already melted. One of the crew members hides behind the cashier to take a nap, while the chef does the same, except he’s got a warm towel draped all over his closed eyelids. Business is running slow in the cusp of midnight. “And me? Am I just high school?” He expects himself to be, but then—

Jihoon shakes his head and it’s as if he’s reciting poetry, “No. You’re a bar, a pizza parlor, and the one I think I’ll miss forever.”

 

 

 

 

 

The hour doesn’t inexplicably end like that. They wash their mouths with tissue, leaving coined tips for the crew despite the service charge. The bars on the street are still aglow with their flickering neon lights and smoke that went on for days, music slipping from its supposed soundproof walls from underground. Soonyoung’s no stranger to this type of scenery—in fact, if he looks hard enough, he’d find his batchmates or the people he has drunkenly made out with littering by the cracked floors of the bar he has hopped to—but when he turns to his left, where Jihoon was walking alongside him, he feels the novelty of it all. And it’s not the bad kind.

Jihoon recites him a poem until they reach the end of the street. He laughs after finishing it, slightly embarrassed. Soonyoung can’t help but feel the sadness underneath his eyes, glistening as he turned to look at him. He says it’s his favorite poem. Soonyoung then responds by telling him there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Kim Chunsu, the poet, had good pieces anyway.

The bars stood still and the 24/7 restaurants stayed where they were. However, in Soonyoung’s eyes, the scenery turns into something completely different. This time, he’s not taking staggering steps toward a post where he can puke everything he drank; this time, he’s walking with someone he loves, and it is, perhaps, the best feeling in the entire world.

 

***

 

 

Jihoon was good at running.

He used to be part of the track and field team back in the days and excelled in sports. He was also good at running away from his problems and from someone he hasn’t seen for the past few years.

He hears shouts him shout his name, all the way to the lobby. For once, he was glad of the crowd at the wee hour, because it gives him the chance to slide in the packed elevator, and yet again, disappear from Soonyoung—so swiftly that it’s almost like a dream. If he looks back, he also hears his sweet declarations of love at five in the morning, outside his window, where he jumped off from, so that they wouldn’t get caught by his foster parents. Jihoon knew it was going to be last time he’ll ever see Kwon Soonyoung. And never did he imagine him screaming his name, voice echoing in the walls of the condominium in such distraught and worry today.

He holds the plastic bag against his chest, legs cramping from waiting long minutes before he gets to Jeonghan’s floor. The next thing he knows, his cheeks are wet and he’s been crying, pressing the code to Jeonghan’s door with his shoulders sagged and face deepened by creases that ran for nine years.

“What happened to you?” Jeonghan asks. Seungcheol, who was preparing three glasses of mango juice in the kitchen, came running to the living room holding a box of tissue. Jihoon takes three sheets, wiping his eyes, thereafter curling it in his fist. “Jihoon, oh my God, are you okay? Why are you crying?”

“I saw…him,” is all he says, shoulders shaking as he tries to retrieve all of his items in his bag. There it was, his goddamn wallet, in one of the pockets, sleek with a staircase full of cards, restaurant coupons, and cash.

“Who did you see?” Jeonghan asks gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Jihoon…”

The doorbell rings. Jihoon turns silent. He could trust Jeonghan. He knows of his story, of where he came from and what happened to him. But he never told him about Soonyoung. Oftentimes, people talk about their tragedies rather than their comedies. Much like how it’s easier to be sad than happy.

Seungcheol whispers, “I’ll get it. It’s probably my phone.”

But he chooses to remain with his lips zipped tight. He knew Jeonghan understood because he didn’t pry any further. Jihoon slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Okay,” Jeonghan nods. “Text me when you get home.”

Seungcheol’s voice floats to where they are. “ _Hey, man, are you okay? What happened—”_

Jihoon walks toward to where they are, preparing for his exit. He holds the plastic bag of soju in his hand, while the other gripped the strap of his bag. Seungcheol holds the door wider as if he’s inviting his friend inside. The heavy door creaks slowly, Jihoon lifting his head, hopefully, free of tears.

Fate, once again, intervenes. And it’s funny because it was as if he just ran back to the starting line instead of reaching for the finish line. Soonyoung’s on the other side, looking disheveled, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the end of his elbows.  

Seungcheol and Jeonghan turn quiet, staring at them with the feeling that they shouldn’t probe nor even question the situation at hand. If Jeonghan were to describe the moment in novel writing terms, it was as if Soonyoung and Jihoon stared at each other like they found something. Seungcheol realizes this, too.

“I believe I owe you money,” Jihoon says, hanging the plastic bag on his wrist, so he can fumble for his wallet. He takes the exact amount of cash he owes and hands it to Soonyoung, which he so stared pointedly at. “I’ll get going now.” He doesn’t move, pocketing the money when Soonyoung just stared blatantly at him.

 _“Until I spoke his name, he had been no more than a mere gesture.”_ Soonyoung starts, voice wavering, reciting the words he’s loved so dearly from the first time he heard it. _“When I spoke his name, he came to me and became a flower.”_

“Soonyoung…” he spoke his name loudly after so long, but it didn’t feel strange. He remembers seeing his name in printed newspapers and articles online—sometimes even in news and in variety entrepreneurial shows, which he watches twice—on time and for the replays in midnight. He hears his name from his co-employees and tries to ignore the bittersweet feeling of loving someone; of missing someone he knows he can’t hold anymore.

 _“Just as I spoke his name, I hope that someone will speak my name, one right for my color and odor. I long to go to him and become his flower.”_ By this time, Jeonghan and Seungcheol had left quietly, cleaning the coffee table, placing the dirty glasses on the sink, in the kitchen where they stayed.

_“We all of us, long to become something. You for me, and I for you, we long to become a never-to-be-forgotten gaze.”_

Jihoon knows the piece all too well. It’s called Flower by Kim Chunsu. He came across it in his early years of high school, skimming through poetry books in the library so that he wouldn’t spend longer hours in his foster house. A poem can hold so much meaning to someone with its words, but most especially, when you think of someone that resembles it. It didn’t mean to him as much until he met Soonyoung in his second year.

“It’s your favorite poem, isn’t it?”

Jihoon presses the back of his knuckles against his mouth, but it doesn’t stop him from crying. “You remembered.”

“I didn’t bother forgetting.”   

Jihoon smiles lightly. He has to face his past one way or another whilst not thinking it would come so soon, even at the age of nine years. They aren’t high school anymore, but they’re still afraid, sometimes lonely, and most of the history that went down in their lives—orphans, in other words—didn’t bother them just as much. They live the next day worrying about bills instead of having their school uniforms tucked. But what both can’t seem to forget was the feeling of losing something; losing someone, because moments like that can leave its imprint on your heart for years and years to come because nothing can beat the feeling of being plucked out of what made you happy even for just a short while.

Jihoon takes out a crisp card from his wallet. He hands it to Soonyoung with both of his hands, head bowed. “Here’s my calling card. Let’s go out for coffee once. I’ll explain everything to you then.”

Soonyoung takes the card.

_Lee Woozi_

_Editor_

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says quietly. _I never wanted to leave you._

Soonyoung pushes his hands down. Jihoon looks up at him. “Can I hold you?”

“Yes, you can.”

Soonyoung buries his head on the crook of Jihoon’s neck and shoulder. “I missed you.”

 

 

***

 

 

Soonyoung gets home past midnight, and wonders if he did the right thing. He slides down, back against the front door, elbow sitting atop his knee. He hears soft footsteps, and then with a click, the lights turn back to life.

“Hyung? What happened?”

Soonyoung wanted to say, _I finally saw him again_ , but instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “I’m tired.”

Seungkwan worriedly frowns, crouching down to pull Soonyoung up to his feet. “I’ll draw a warm bath for you. Please sit on the couch. The floor is cold.”

“Hey, didn’t I give you a day off? Why are you here?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I live here. Seokmin dropped me off not long ago. You haven’t been replying to our calls and texts and Mingyu got worried, so I went here to at least comfort and remind him that you’re of age already.”

“And you two are a lot younger than me,” Soonyoung chuckles. “You should’ve stayed the night at Seokmin’s.”

“I would’ve but I’m glad I didn’t, because you’re crying now, and who would be there for you? Mingyu, probably, but you know how he is. He’s a heavy sleeper.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Soonyoung purses his lips together and sighs. “I finally saw him again.”

Seungkwan’s lifts his eyebrows in surprise, taking small steps toward him. “Really? How?”

“He was hanging around in one of the goddamn condominiums I own. I saw him and my heart jumped. I thought that maybe this was another chance for us, but then…”

“But then?” Seungkwan prompts.

“But then, thinking about it just didn’t feel right. After all the pain, the loss, _everything_ , I just don’t know if I can accept him back in my life that easily.”

“You were hurt. It’s natural to feel that way,” Seungkwan says. “You can do whatever you want, but be careful. He might…hurt you again the second time around.”

“He might disappear again.”

“Hyung, the source of our happiness and sadness can come from only one person. There will be times where the happiness and sadness battle each other for the greater percentage. Sometimes the happiness will win; sometimes the sadness will. But if the sadness just keeps on winning and winning, then that’s time that you should stop.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Drink up,” Soonkyu says, pouring him a shot of soju. “You’ve been through a lot today. Drink until you knock yourself out. That’s the only way you’ll get to sleep tonight.”

“I see him every day. I see him on the news, on the internet…I see him everywhere. But it still hurts— _no_ , I feel ashamed. I couldn’t even lift my head to look at him.”

“That’s called guilt,” Soonkyu offers. “The best thing you can do is just…explain the whole thing to him. If he cares about you, then I think he’d understand.”

“Maybe but I still hurt him.”

“That’s true, but what else can you do, Jihoon? You were in a shitty household and you couldn’t just grin and bear. Sometimes, we’re meant to leave people for the better. No matter how hard it is. But right now, maybe it’s your second chance.”

 

 

 

 

 

“And Seungkwan?” Soonyoung calls before he leaves to draw him a warm bath. “It’s not ‘the second time around.’” He holds three fingers up. “It would be the third time around.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Make it the third chance,” Jihoon says, finishing a bottle.

Soonkyu’s eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

 

 

 

 

 

_What if I don't want to be found?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What do you mean?” Seungkwan asks. “Hyung, don’t tell me…”

“We met right after I had my physical examination for my military service,” Soonyoung says. “Which was four months after he went missing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Kudos and comments are appreciated!!!
> 
> (also Soonkyu as in Sunny from SNSD!!!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Lean on Me - Seventeen on repeat while writing this + some wfkbj ost in between!

 

 

 

The result of Yoon Jeonghan and Choi Seungcheol’s dating scandal left quite an impression on the company. Well, aside from the publicity department’s turmoil and the CEO’s concern over the rise and fall of their stocks, the other editors and passing authors can really be chatty. Deadlines are just around the corner and it just gets busier by the day, with the demographic of their authors increasing and the coffee machine finally breaks from overuse. Jihoon supposes that it’s some sort of talent to talk about celebrities and their private lives while skimming over heaps of chapters with horrendous typographical errors and running on expensive coffee bought from the café across their building. They miss their coffee machine, and they do their jobs as it is, but the scandal is so much of a _scandal_ that it becomes the hot topic for every conversation you hear in the company.

“Even the manhwa department is talking about it,” Hansol says just after conversing with the printing press about a deadline extension. “Don’t sweat too much, hyung. This, too, shall pass. I mean, remember when Bae Suzy and Lee Min Ho dating news came out? Everyone was so worked up about it the first month, but then they just kind of gotten over it, I guess.”

“Thanks, Hansol,” Jihoon says, sighing, his laced hands following the rise and fall of his chest. He takes his boots off his table, stretching to reach for Hansol’s hair, which he ruffled fondly. “You always know what to say to cheer your hyung up. How about I treat you some meat and somaek later?”

“I would love to hyung, but I have other plans tonight,” Hansol says smugly. “That’s why I finished everything early.”

“Does that plan involve someone else?”

“Am I really that easy to read?”

“No, I can just see right through you. So, who did you score a date with?”

Hansol slides his office chair towards Jihoon, leaning in to whisper, “Jisoo hyung.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “Our Jisoo?” he points to his empty chair, “What?”

“I told you, hyung! I fell in love at first sight. Now, I can’t even believe he agreed on going on a date with me.”

Jihoon rolls the nearest draft that he could reach for on his desk, hitting Hansol’s head. “Are you crazy?”

“Why?” Hansol curls himself, raising both of his arms in defense. “Why did you hit me?”

“Jisoo’s still not over his ex. Don’t you realize you’re being used as a rebound?”

Hansol wets his chapped lips and laughs a little, except nothing was funny. “I know. Although, I’d regret it more if I don’t act upon my feelings. I will make him fall in love with me for real, then.”

“Whatever you say, kid,” Jihoon rolls his eyes, shelving Jeonghan’s draft and other pending proposals for his meetings next week. _Martyrs._ “I’m not the best person you can confide to about dating. You can consult with Minghao over there.”

“Hey, leave me out of this.” Minghao inputs. “You probably won’t be able to see me ever again anyway, since I’m going to prison soon.”

“I could always just visit you while you’re behind the bars, though.”

Minghao’s fingers halt above the keyboard of his laptop, throwing Hansol a glare. “Shut up now, punk! I might end up murdering you with that secretary from Haneul Printing Press. God, I’m having a headache.”

“Hey, no one’s murdering anyone. We already got a dating scandal to deal with.” Ah yes, priorities. “Anyway, I’m going out for a smoke. Hansol, want to come with?”

“I don’t smoke, hyung.”

“Oh, right. Minghao?”

Minghao responds with a light wave and a slight shake of his head, eyes glued to his laptop. “Maybe later.” Jihoon turns to their youngest, Chan, who he doesn’t bother asking anymore, since he’s fast asleep on his arms, drooling on the documents he was editing. He’s going to regret it later when he wakes up. “All right. Fewer people are going to have their lives reduced by eleven minutes! I’m off.”

“Wait, hyung,” Hansol catches his wrist. “How come I can’t ask dating advice from you? You’ve been with a lot of people before.”

“Well, there’s a difference. You’re in love and I wasn’t. Not with any of the people I’ve ever been with. So, basically, I’m useless to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jihoon lights the cigarette in between his lips with a quick flick on the lighter as if it were a field of expertise. At this time of the night, the rush hour is simmering down to its last boil, and there aren’t many people to bump into anymore. Though, there’s a distant buzzing noise of speeding cars and clacking of heels and laughter. The night-life was something he used to adore. As a child, he’d wait until the lights were out to ride on the tire swing, praying to the stars for a kind family to adopt him before he gets old. At least, not as old as his 18-year old hyungs who haven’t found an adoptive family yet.

Right now, at twenty-nine, he wonders if they did ever find a family or have one of their own.

Pain passes by with time, and he liked to think he has moved on from the ‘horrors of his past,’ if he liked to call it with a novelesque title. His foster family was nice, but when his foster mother died due to a car accident, everything changed from thereon. His foster father remarried, and his foster stepmother—just like in fairytales—was extremely unpleasant and it eventually influenced the way his foster father treated him.

It’s a different feeling when someone from his past reappears in his life. If freeing yourself from the imprisonment of your past had bail, he doubts that he would be able to leave the bars, because 1) he doesn’t have money, and in technical terms, 2) he would fail every appeal for parole because there are still some things he hasn’t dealt with yet, and it came with the form of Kwon Soonyoung.  

Leaning against the empty bicycle ramp, he turns around, blowing a puff of smoke, watching the led board of the neighboring building aglow. It catches your eye during traffic, and it’s something you’d ignore if you were to walk the streets. But Jihoon stands still, smoke in hand, blinded by the flashing financial insurance advertisements and then a condominium made to satisfy your living necessities. There are days when he misses Soonyoung, and when those days come, he waits for his bit to show up, endorsing the corporation he owned with a smile that Jihoon remembered all too well.

However, this is a different kind of day. He really just felt like smoking.

“You were supposed to be mad at me,” Jihoon says to the flashing image of Soonyoung. “It would’ve been easier that way.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He turns his eyes away from the led board the moment it turns back to the financial insurance advertisement. Speak of the devil.

 

`Kwon Soonyoung`

`Are you free on Friday?`

 

Jihoon types in an _I’m sorry_ but erases it after a careful thought. He always had a penchant for running away, but he deems that these are one of the moments he shouldn’t. After all, if he dealt with the situation at hand earlier, then it would benefit him rather than disadvantage him.

 

`Lee Jihoon`

`I am. I get off work at 7. Where would you like to meet?`

 

`Kwon Soonyoung`

`I’ll pick you up and then we can decide?`

 

Have a famous businessman fawned over by a large number of women and men pick him up in a company where gossiping is on a roll as of the moment? He’ll pass.

 

`Lee Jihoon`

`You don’t need to do that. It’s fine. Just text me again if you’ve decided on a place. I’ll go there.`

 

`Kwon Soonyoung`

`Okay. Are you still at work?`

 

`Lee Jihoon`

`You’re not supposed to be checking on me, Soonyoung...`

 

`Kwon Soonyoung`

`Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you on Friday.`

`But please do go home safely.`

He shuts his phone to sleep, pressing the tip of the cigarette on the ramp. He discards the now unlit stick in a garbage bin nearby.  _How can you still check on me, after everything I did to you?_ Jihoon questions.

 

 

 

 

Jihoon receives a call from Jeonghan right after his working hours, urging him to stay over in his condo due to an important matter, which he assumes is just a session of interrogating and probing. He brushes past Jeonghan’s shoulder when he arrives, heading straight for the refrigerator, where the novelist kept his beer stash. If they were going to talk about what happened last week, then he’d need alcohol. It keeps the emotional constipation at bay.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jeonghan says.

“Is it because you’ve pretty much gathered all the pieces together?”

“Sort of, yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Jihoon assures him. “Better that way. Now you know my regrets, or pretty much, the only one I’ve ever had.”

“You see Soonyoung all the time,” Jeonghan says. “You must’ve seen him at one point on television, or from that huge fucking advertisement led board near the company. Well, don’t you think there’s a reason why you two crossed paths again? It’s not too late to patch things up.”

“No, us meeting again is just another concrete reminder of how much of a douchebag I was,” Jihoon sits up, downing the beer in one go, scrunching his face at the aftertaste, no matter how much he had been acquainted with it. He doesn’t reach for another one, though, because sometimes, Jihoon thinks that the best way to own up to your mistakes is when you’re sober and in pain. “I think that’s all there is to it.”

“To you, but maybe, not to him. To him, maybe it’s a sign for you two to start over again?”

“Jeonghan,” Jihoon tries explaining. “I want to apologize to him and…I want to be with him again, more than anything—but if you just knew what I did to him? God, I can’t even forgive myself, so, why would he?”

“What did you do?”

“We were together for six months.”

“Wait…I remember your story. You told me that before leaving your foster house, you spent the night with him, and that was it. How were you two…”

“Because I came back after four months, before his enlistment. We were young, we thought it was going to work out, so we got together. He was in the military and we’d talk whenever he was allowed to. He visited me during his break, too, _and_ I really loved him, you know? But it just didn’t…it didn’t work out. I left. I disappeared again.”

“Jihoon—”

“And when I saw him for the first time in years, I felt like I was nineteen again. My heart skipped and I wanted to be in his arms, but I just _can’t._ It was so long ago, and he probably has moved on already. I mean, I should. We’re just here for closure.” 

 

 

 

“What if I don’t want to be found? _I keep thinking of that. I wasn’t supposed to have any regrets, but then you came along…”_

_“Jihoon, we can try. We can be together…We’ll exchange letters, I’ll call you when I can and I’ll visit you as well. Please.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

“What did he do this time?”

“He impulsively bought a 30,000 squared-feet mansion yesterday,” Seungkwan says as if his boss had just bought a simple bag from a mall. “‘I’m not materialistic,’ he says, but then he just goes on and buys mansions, as if he doesn’t own a penthouse and a vacation house already.”

“He’s stressed, I think,” Wonwoo says, patting Seungkwan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Wonwoo pads toward Soonyoung, who laid comfortably on one of the lounge chairs on the deck of the yacht. The salty breeze hits his nose with a stronger set once he had stepped foot outside the cabin. He turns to his back, looking up, and sees Junhui conversing with Mingyu, who took responsibility for driving the wheel. His husband catches his eyes, shaking his head. It meant, _Soonyoung’s in a bad mood._

“You usually don’t invite us to your yacht unless there’s a special occasion,” Wonwoo says, plopping down on the lounge chair beside Soonyoung. He signals one of Soonyoung’s handmaids to serve him a four seasons drink. “I got to say, this is very spontaneous of you.”

“My two best friends just got married, how is it not a special occasion?” Soonyoung says, flipping the magazine in his hand to its next page. He’s perched with a hand behind his head, shades on, sporting a windswept hair. “Besides, it’s been weeks since I last saw you guys. Wouldn’t hurt to have a get-together once in a while. Plus, I had one of my personal chefs come with us. You can have him prepare any dish you’d like. Baby back ribs?”

“Junhui and I just like jjajangmyeon, and something happened to you.”

“Here it goes.”

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says firmly. “You bought a mansion yesterday. You don’t usually spend this much if you aren’t sulky. Remember? You bought this yacht because you were stressed over a deal with that investment firm last year.”

“Look, what if I’m just a stereotypical rich bastard who doesn’t know what to do with his money?”

“I doubt it. That’s not you.”

Soonyoung sighs. “Fine, I’m sulking. Can you leave me alone now please?”

“So much about spending quality time together. What happened?”

Soonyoung pauses, placing the magazine on the small table beside him. Mingyu turns the yacht around, driving at a steady pace towards the port, where they came from. “I met Jihoon again.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Okay? It’s been nearly a decade, Soonyoung. Don’t tell me you’re not yet—”

“I’m over it,” Soonyoung assures, but it’s more of like directed towards himself. “I’m just going to need my closure, and then we’re done. I don’t have any plans of seeing him again after that.”

“So, you’re going to meet him?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Soonyoung…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And he will be, too, hopefully. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I still care for him.”

“Okay, and please tell me how he’s doing, then,” Wonwoo says. “He was my friend, too. The last time I saw him was like the week before he went missing in high school. I forgot what he looks like now.”

“Sure,” Soonyoung takes the magazine again.

“And Soonyoung?”

“Hm?”

“We’re here for you. No matter what.”

 

 

 

***

 

`HOUR 3, 1 AM – 2 AM`

 

“What do you think of me?”

“Hm?” Soonyoung perks up from his drink. They’re sitting side by side on a twin slide at a public playground.

“You’ve probably heard a lot of things about me. Rumors and all that. I’m asking you which one is your favorite, the one that influenced the way you think of me.”

“My favorite is the truth,” Soonyoung answers. “And it’s not Lee Jihoon, the student council president.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon says. He props himself up and gently places his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

“Why are you thanking me? I just honestly answered your question.”

“Yeah, but it meant a lot to me. I can’t always be the Lee Jihoon who’s always so lawful and good and only cares about studying. It’s tiring.”

Soonyoung nods. “Lean on me, then. Every time you get tired, just lean on me. I’ll be there for you. It wouldn’t hurt to rest once in a while.”

“That’s exactly what I just need,” Jihoon then says, “I’m afraid that one day, it’s not just high school that we’ll have to worry about.”

“I worry about that, too. You know what, let’s spare ourselves this night—let’s not think about the future. Right now, the stars are especially bright today,” he then stares at Jihoon. “And it’s really beautiful. We can then save all the worrying for another day.”

“Soonyoung,” he snuggles closer, his voice softer. “I’m afraid of running away.”

“Hm? Then I’ll follow you, so you won’t have to be that afraid.”

“Don’t,” Jihoon says but it’s so brief that Soonyoung almost missed it. “Let’s just lean on each other for now.”

Soonyoung had no idea of the weight Jihoon’s words carried, but he doesn’t regret obliging to what Jihoon had requested. He moves closer.

 

 

***

 

 

Friday came, and Jihoon tries to move in between the bustling crowd by the entrance of the café without hitting anyone. He finds Soonyoung sitting by the window, arms crossed, wearing a long coat over a white turtleneck. The way he presented himself came with age and the harsh reality of what they were once afraid of: the future.

He takes a deep breath and makes his way toward Soonyoung. “Hey,” he greets, trying to sound as casual as possible. “You haven’t ordered anything yet?”

“I’m not hungry. How about you? Would you like something?”

“I think I should order something. It’d be burdensome for the employees if we just stay here without getting something.”

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung says, and his expression hasn’t moved in one bit. “I own this café.”

“Oh,” Jihoon blinks. “I thought you just owned condominiums…”

“It’s more of like a side business,” Soonyoung shrugs. “Though you can order anything you want without falling in line. I’ll just call someone. It’s on the house.”

“No, no it’s okay. I’m full. I don’t really feel like drinking anything.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung nods. The atmosphere makes Jihoon fidget in his seat; with every other exchange, a long pause of silence comes after as if they manually processed words from a thick dictionary. Though, A crowded place is a top-notch choice, because if they were to meet in a place where only a few people gathered, then maybe he wouldn’t even be able to open his mouth to warm up a conversation. But even so, what he can’t do is to look directly into Soonyoung’s eyes, no matter the circumstance.

He isn’t expecting forgiveness of any kind. He’s here to explain, to seal what should’ve been taken care of long ago if he wasn’t so scared back then.

“You can ask me anything and I’ll answer everything honestly,” Jihoon says, feeling a sting in his eyes. It’s a long overdue _I’m sorry_ that prickles it. “You deserve an explanation and I should’ve given it to you earlier—”

_“How are you?”_

“What?”

“That’s my question. How are you?”

Jihoon’s voice shakes. “I’m doing fine. I…I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t you start with getting into college?”

“My aunt was a dean and with a few tricks, I got in, since I still had my high school diploma and my SATs results. I majored in Literature, which brings me to where I am right now. I started with manhwas but then I moved to novels.”

“That’s nice,” Soonyoung comments, sounding genuine. “I’m glad you are able to do what you’ve been wanting to do ever since.”

“How about you?” Jihoon urges. “What have you been up to?”

“Starting from when I was discharged?” Soonyoung says. He sees Jihoon’s breath hitch. “I went to college and won the lottery.”

“I heard…”

“Well, you can pretty much know more about my life by reading tabloids and such. I don’t have much to say.”

Jihoon nods. He doesn’t have much to say either.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go to the washroom,” Soonyoung stands up from his seat. “I’ll be right back.”

Jihoon sits quietly and wished he had a drink to fumble with in the meantime. Minutes later, impulsively, he too, stands up, keen on leaving the premises as soon as possible. He thinks of Soonyoung coming back to his seat, and him not being able to say anything. He’s scared and the fear consumes his whole—it drives him clutching the lamp post situated in front of the café, chest rising and falling.

“Is that what you’re good at?” He hears Soonyoung’s voice behind. It was a shout, hoping that it’d overcome the noise of the cars whirring by. “Running away without saying anything?”

“Yes,” Jihoon faces him, matching his volume. “It’s what I’m good at.”

“So, you live your life like that?”

“It’s what got me by,” Jihoon says. Their coats flap as a car speeds past them, and the world suddenly turns quiet.

Soonyoung clenches his fists. “When I saw you again, I thought that in some way, in the end, we can be okay. I was wrong.”

“Just please hate me…it’d be easier for the both of us.”

“Don’t worry, you’re already doing a great job at making me hate you. Want to test my limit?”

“I hurt you,” Jihoon starts. “I…couldn't tell you why, because I was scared. It was also the same reason why I left again. I wasn’t brave enough to love you, even if I wanted to, more than anything in this world—”

“Are you sure you loved me? Because I’m starting to get the feeling that you only stuck with me because you were guilty.”

“That’s not true…”

“Then, what is? Why did you come looking for me four months after you disappeared, only to leave me six months after you swore that you won’t leave like that ever again?”

“Soonyoung—”

“Did you think it was easy for me? I looked for you again. And it’s been fucking years. We’re adults now, but the pain is still there.”

“I have no excuse,” Jihoon confesses. “The first time I left was because of my foster home; the second time, I simply just did because I was a coward.”

“What are you scared of?” Soonyoung unclenches his fists.

“I didn’t have any regrets leaving my foster home and everything, but that everything didn’t include you. When I was taking the night bus to my biological family’s home, all I could think of was you. I regret leaving you. I wanted to be with you. And when we got together while you were enlisted, I thought that it was too good to be true, and I got scared, so I left again. I was scared for our future, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung takes a few steps towards Jihoon. “Why are you so scared of something you don’t even know?”

“Soonyoung, I—”

He takes him by the shoulder. “I used to think that I’d rather have you than all of the money I have. I’d rather struggle with two or three jobs if it meant being able to stand by your side. But that was before.”

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says. “I’m so sorry, Soonyoung…”

“Please give me some time.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“But I want to,” Soonyoung insists. He sounds tired. “Just…stay there.”

 

 

***

 

 

`SEVEN YEARS AGO, the year Soonyoung got discharged`

 

“My dear, the family who used to rent that apartment moved a few months ago.” The landlady says, comfortingly patting Soonyoung on the shoulder as he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door of what once was Jihoon’s place.

“Oh, young man, you seem familiar. Perhaps, you’ve visited before?”

“Yes, during the holidays last year.”

“I don’t mean to probe, but you are our Jihoonie’s boyfriend? The one who was on active duty in the military?”

“Were,” Soonyoung corrects politely with a smile. He pushes himself off the water. “Thank you for welcoming me to your building, Ma’am. Sorry for the inconvenience as well.”

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so soonyoung and jihoon did get together but it was only during soonyoung's active duty in the military!!! 
> 
> it's been 2 months since I've updated and I'm Very Sorry, though I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. the flashbacks in this story were heavier than I've imagined, so I hope y'all won't mind its upcoming abundance all throughout the fic. :D


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